


A Fish Out of Water

by ganbarimaster



Series: Jinzula [5]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Drowning, Gen, Near Death, Northrend, Rituals, Sailing, Undead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-28 22:06:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20973794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ganbarimaster/pseuds/ganbarimaster
Summary: A stowaway in a dangerous vessel with no immediate means of escape, the situation looks grim for Jinzula.





	A Fish Out of Water

The stench had been unbearable at first, but she was slowly becoming accustomed to it. Jinzula was no fan of seaweed at the best of times, but to be covered entirely in strips of grotesque, slimy algae was enough to put her off it for life. The vessel she had boarded was an anomaly. There was no way that it was sailing by natural means as the vessel itself was barely distinguishable from a wreck. When she could occasionally peer through the weeds, and a sliver of light broke into the room, there was nothing to see other than shattered wood and miscellaneous debris. Even so, they were definitely on the move. It felt as though she had been trapped in here for an age, as with every passing second she feared being noticed by the Kvaldir and then fed to the sea. Swimming was not her strong suit. But the hiding spot she had chosen had thus far served her well. There were yells and commands being barked topside, but nothing she could make out. Having gone without a proper night’s sleep since before embarking upon this journey, Jinzula’s eyes were heavy. She fought to stay alert, but was losing the battle. The rocking of the waves sent her into a slumber, where she dreamt of being caught in a huge fishing net, pressed up against hundreds upon thousands of panicked sea creatures. 

She woke with a start and instinctively pulled the weeds from her face. The boat had come to a stop. She listened and waited. What voices she could hear were distant. Gulls were cawing and squabbling. But she hesitated to move. More time passed and the situation remained the same. Daylight broke in through cracks in the walls, which would make her easy to spot, but she hoped the seaweed would still serve her well. It was time to make a break for it. 

Slowly and gingerly stepping out onto the deck, Jinzula took in her surroundings, careful to keep herself obscured by barrels and boxes. A thick fog blanketed the coastline, but she could just make out a pier, and some Kvaldir moving cargo. She wondered for a moment what, exactly, these undead spirits would be shipping, but the thought didn’t have time to go far.

“I’LL EAT YOUR HEART!”

Came the guttural cry from somewhere behind her. She had been spotted. Pale, milky eyes turned to her from all around. Her breath became short and sharp as a large, clammy hand grasped at her. Jinzula kicked at her assailant but quickly found her world tumbling upside down—she had slipped on the seaweed and was careering off the side of the boat. Her head slammed into a sharp part of the ship on the way down before she crashed into the freezing cold water. Shock took her immediately and she tried to find breath, but nothing but briny salt water filled her lungs. She tried to move her limbs, to find the surface, but couldn’t feel _anything_. Her world was getting smaller and darker, her entire body wracked with pain, fit to burst. Suffocating. 

And then there was silence. 

__________________________________________________________________

In the darkness, Jinzula heard a voice—soft, and warm. 

_I see you, little troll._

Jinzula was breathing again, but she didn’t know how. The pain had gone, and her body felt weightless, adrift. She turned her head and blinked hard, trying to get a bead on her surroundings, but could see nothing. The voice came again, washing over Jinzula like a soothing purr, and when it spoke, some tiny blue flames bloomed in the distance. 

_Rest now. Then come find me. You’ll know where to go._

And just like that the flames were gone. Jinzula tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. _Who are you? How will I know?_ Was what she had wanted to say. The thoughts trailed off until there was nothing but darkness and silence once more.

____________________________________________________________________

An overwhelming fishy stench assailed her. It was much too bright to open her eyes. Coming to consciousness Jinzula wondered if the Kvaldir hadn’t captured her, if she wasn’t being held in some prison camp. As she moved, at least her limbs seemed to be free, but they ached badly. Her head was swimming. 

“Slowly now. Easy does it.”

There was a voice she didn’t recognise, and another clammy hand touched her, lifting her head. A wide bowl was being brought to her lips and a warm, viscous liquid filled her mouth. 

“Drink this.”

She coughed and sputtered as the strange substance touched her tongue, slapping the bowl away from her face. It tasted like fish. She sat up straight, forcing open her eyes, which rolled around in their sockets as she tried to focus on anything at all. She wretched violently, sea water bursting from her mouth and covering her cot. As Jinzula spat out the last few salty spurts, she noticed the bowl over to one side, its contents splashed across the floor. It looked like milk, but tasted like no milk she’d ever known. Bringing the room into focus, she appeared to be in some kind of tent kept alight with simple flame torches. There was an unusual figure looming over her, shorter than a Kvaldir, but just as wide. She could barely make out any eyes, but there were two long tusks coming down from its face, which were crowned by thick, bushy whiskers at the top. A large, smooth belly covered in strange markings was pointed toward her.

“Easy, easy... You are safe now. My name is Yomtuik.”  
“What is this place? Am I a prisoner?”  
“This is our village, Unu’pe. We do not keep prisoners here. Are you Drakkari?”

Jinzula hesitated before offering her response. She hadn’t the chance to consider what guise she’d don upon reaching Northrend. 

“No, _mon_... I be Darkspear.”

The rotund creature took her measure at that response, and presumably his eyes would have reflected that if she could make them out under his thick brows. He deflated a little, as if his body had been fully tensed until now. 

“Good.” Yomtuik nodded slowly, seeming relieved. “One of our villagers fished you up this afternoon. It is an auspicious occasion.”

Jinzula took a deep breath, now confident that she was in no danger here. How had she survived? She recalled the gentle voice that echoed in the darkness. Was it a dream? Looking down upon herself, Jinzula noticed that she was wearing robes which were far too big for her—although they had been soaked by the salty brine water she had just expelled from her lungs. She urgently scanned the room for her equipment. It was nowhere to be seen.

“Your equipment is with our village elder. And we have set your garments out to dry.”

As much as this exchange had been a friendly one, Jinzula felt exposed. She didn’t want to arouse their suspicion, but she had to recover her equipment and push on. The voice from before said that she would know where to go. But as she took to her feet, her legs crumpled beneath her. 

“No, no. You must rest. Your garments will take time to dry, please...”

Reluctantly, Jinzula submitted to the demands of her battered body. These past few days had been tough, and if she intended to travel to Zul’Drak by herself she would need to be at full strength. If the cold didn’t take her, there were countless other dangers that could easily bring a swift end to her journey. And so for the following two nights she remained under the care of these people—the tuskarr. The whale milk they had tried to make her drink would take some getting used to, but there was plenty to eat. 

It transpired that the tuskarr had a culture which was deeply rooted in their fishing. That she was caught in one of their nets was repeatedly said to have been a very auspicious, fortuitous event. A feast was held and stories were told around a campfire by the village mystic. She heard about their battles with Kvaldir, “the giant raiders”, and about “the blue-scaled ones” who came to Northrend to control “the power that flows through all things”. It seemed as though their people had also warred with the Drakkari in years long past—hence their eagerness to learn of her origins. Although there was little to distinguish Jinzula from the average ice troll, that she seemed to feel the cold so acutely here in the Borean Tundra supported her improvisation that she was, instead, a Darkspear. And as the tuskarr were friends of the Horde, this too worked in her favour.

On her final night staying in Unu’pe, Jinzula bore witness to a beautiful dancing of lights in the sky, the likes of which she’d never seen before. She did not know if the ritual then being undertook by the village mystic wasn’t somehow responsible for this phenomena, but either way it made for an altogether otherworldly experience. So much had happened already, and her travels had barely begun. The village mystic, Tomkin was his name, claimed to have spoken with his ancestors and blessed her journey. Her equipment returned, the tuskarr also gifted Jinzula with some dried meats, as well as a thick woven shawl to keep her warm. She did not know from what animal this shawl was made, nor did she wish to. It was enough that it would keep her alive in these frozen climes. On the following morning, she said her goodbyes and set out for Zul’Drak. She knew where to go.


End file.
